"...it’s their punishment. Let them simmer."

That was the response Malik decided on after only a moment of thought.

He was starting to get good at this Sultan thing, finding the right words to say without revealing too much or committing to anything he couldn’t take back.

Perhaps it was in the nature of political figures to lie.

Yes, Malik internally stated that he wasn’t one to lie only last night, but this and that were different.

This wasn’t a lie about his honored word—this was just... strategic wording.

He was fairly certain that was the term for it.

Accepting his order with a nod, Dunya returned to the back, silent as ever.

Seemingly annoyed by their mentioning of traitors or perhaps Malik’s duty in general, Layla quickly grasped his free hand and led him through the streets.

Her fingers intertwined with his, and she pulled him along like a woman on a mission.

Judging by the confident way she moved, her eyes scanning the streets ahead, it appeared that she wanted to show him a specific place.

Malik accepted her hand and let her lead.

It was the first time he had ever been touched without permission while in his Sultan appearance.

His wife, being the one to do so, revealed just how intimate she wished their relationship to be and how close she wanted them to become now that he had returned.

Unfortunately for her, he wasn’t about to get in her bed anytime soon.

Not only because of the issue with his changing appearance, the risk of exposing his weakness in the most vulnerable of moments, but also because he wished to fully remember their history first.

He couldn’t do anything that would go against it, and he couldn’t do anything that he would later regret when his memories finally returned.

It was his ever-repeating conundrum.

"Here we are!"

Layla eventually announced, stopping before a large gate.

"Remember my caravan?"

Indeed, Layla had led him somewhere, and it was a... traveling caravan?

Yes, it was.

The sign above the gate read [One Thousand Nights].

Beyond that, Malik could see many carriages arranged in neat rows and what seemed to be a massive warehouse right here in the middle of his city, taking up an entire block of prime real estate.

Many of the merchants and guards moving about the compound smiled upon seeing her and Malik.

Those smiles weren’t like the others they had encountered.

Namely, they held more than just awe and fear.

They also held recognition and familiarity.

A warmth that came from knowing someone personally, not just from hearing their name in stories.

’Did I travel with this lot before? Was that how I met Layla?’

Malik reached his conclusions from that alone.

While the group began to crowd them, their voices overlapping in excited greetings, he stood back and observed.

"My Lord! We knew you would return!"

A burly man with a thick beard excitedly clapped his hands together.

"You should have seen us when we first heard about it!"

A young woman with braided hair bounced on her heels, barely containing herself.

"True. Man, Alibaba—Lord Rehan would have teased us so much if he saw."

An older man with graying temples shook his head, a sad smile on his lips.

"I’m so happy for you, my Lady!"

A woman around Layla’s age clasped her hands over her heart, tears in her eyes.

’Hm. Alibaba, or well, Rehan, is someone important to them. The man said "would have," so he must be dead. They wouldn’t mention him like that in front of Layla if he were not someone really close.’

Again, as Layla replied to their pleasantries, Malik was lost in thought.

’A family member?’

’Maybe her brother or father...’

’One Thousand Nights seems like a family business, no doubt grown big after my marriage to Layla.’

With his analysis complete, he returned his attention to the group.

"Thank you for the warm welcome. I am proud of how far you all have come."

His words seemed to be the correct ones.

Those of the caravan had their eyes all but sparkle, their faces lighting up with joy.

Even Layla’s happiness increased twofold upon hearing them, her grip on his hand tightening.

"Yes..."

Her voice was thick with emotion.

"I’m sure Father would be very proud as well."

’Ah, so it was her father.’

Malik’s analysis was correct, it seemed.

Rehan was Layla’s father, the man who had built this caravan from nothing.

"But he definitely would have been happier by your return, my Sultan!"

The young woman with braided hair added.

"Yes, he always wanted you to marry Lady Layla!"

The burly man agreed, nodding vigorously.

Okay, now that was something that Malik had missed entirely.

He and Rehan were close? Close enough that Rehan would ask Malik to marry his daughter?

That suggested a relationship that went beyond mere politics, alliances, and treaties.

It suggested genuine friendship and trust.

As usual, Malik had so many questions, but unfortunately, he knew that they weren’t going to be answered today.

Not here, not now, not in front of all these people who were looking at him with such hope and expectation.

"I’m sure he would."

He nodded slowly while Layla waved them away.

"You heard him; now please, go, go."

She then quickly pulled her husband along and walked into the compound, seemingly wanting to give him a tour of the place.

He followed without saying much, rather interested in what they traded.

’Who knows, I might just find a decent Holy Relic here.’

Sure, Malik buying strength-increasing or life-saving Holy Relics could possibly raise some eyebrows, but he was always a mysterious figure.

He did things that most people didn’t understand until it was too late, and so...

They would most likely just think this to be the case once more.

Rather, nearly every unusual thing he’d do in the future would likely be glossed over or excused by his people.

If Malik had a million followers, then those people were all of them.

If Malik had ten followers, then those people were all ten of them.

If Malik had only one follower, then it was one of them.

If Malik had no followers, then that meant they were no longer alive.

If the world was against Malik, then they were against the world.

If the world was for Malik, then they were with the world.

Until their last breath, they would support Malik.

And so, he browsed without worry, checking out what they had.

It was a lot. Racks upon racks of goods filled the warehouse, organized by category and quality.

Rare types of food from across the continent sat next to bolts of rare cloth in colors he had never seen before.

Interesting-looking contraptions of brass and copper were displayed on velvet cushions, their purposes unclear but their craftsmanship undeniable.

Layla was quite the tour guide, explaining the origin and story behind each section.

Yet Malik still grew disappointed, unable to find anything of interest among the wares.

No Holy Relics or strong weapons, nothing that would give him an edge in the battles to come.

Of course, he didn’t show his disappointment.

Not when she was so excited to show him her accomplishments.

To demonstrate how what he once knew, or should have known, as a simple traveling caravan had transformed into such a large merchant faction while also still keeping their core identity, their family spirit.

Though, unfortunately for the proud wife, Dunya had interrupted once more:

"Hee."

A script of Death appeared before Malik.

[Apologies, my Sultan, but I am inclined to inform you of this.]

Malik turned to her and nodded.

"Go on."

She lowered her head, her purple eyes serious.

[The daily wave of Demons is soon to arrive. It is an early one today. If you wish, you can lead the troops. I am sure it would be a great boost of morale for the soldiers.]

He was about to glance at Layla, to see if this interruption offended her in any way, but she unknowingly rejected that thought before he could even turn his head:

"I’ll come with you."

Malik took a moment, looking at her determined face.

It was obvious to him that she wasn’t asking for permission.

This was her stating her intention.

Layla, despite everything, was a person of her own right, not simply an extension of him. Something which he appreciated.

’...she’ll be fine.’

Coming to a decision, he looked back at Dunya.

"Take us to the Last Stronghold."